


The Death of Several Characters

by Crystal059



Category: Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Kidnapping, M/M, Police Procedural, or something close to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-13 20:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20180329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal059/pseuds/Crystal059
Summary: There's a killer on the loose in Underland. He's been named "The Cat" for the wide, bloody smile he leaves by all his victims. Detectives Alice Liddell and Hatta have been put on the case, but things quickly become unknowingly personal between the detectives and the Cat.Meanwhile, Ches has met his significant other in the form of mousy Dorian. But Ches has a secret: Ches always makes sure that the last thing anyone ever sees is his smile....





	The Death of Several Characters

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The name "Haigha" rhymes with "mayor", don't ask me why that is, I don't know. For those that have read the books, that's the exact same thing Lewis Carroll says, so I'm just following him. Furthermore, please mind the tags, and let me know if anyone thinks I should up the rating on this. Thanks!  
Characters:  
Ches = Cheshire Cat  
Dorian Mousseau = Dormouse  
Alice Pleasance Liddell = Alice  
Mary Redburn = Red Queen  
Hatta = Mad Hatter  
Haigha = March Hare  
Whitney Rabbitt = White Rabbit  
The Tweedle Brothers = Tweedledum & Tweedledee  
Rosaleen = One of the singing flowers  
The Poppy Triplets = More of the singing flowers  
Disclaimer: The characters themselves are from the imagination of Lewis Carroll; everything that happens in this story is from my imagination. However, the italicized nonsense poem at the end of this story belongs entirely to Lewis Carroll, and comes straight from the books. It is not mine. Enjoy!

(Friday, March 8th)

The man's vision was blurry when he first opened his eyes, and he instantly groaned at the pain blossoming from his forehead. He raised his hands to his head out of instinct, but, belatedly, he found he couldn't do that. His hands and feet were tied to the chair he was sitting in. Panic made his eyes go wide and his brain kick into overdrive.

Nothing but darkness all around him, a single light cast on him helping the anxiety, but not helping him figure out where he was.

The bindings around his wrists were tight, tighter when he tried to wriggle out of them. It was no use. They were tied too securely.

Suddenly, there came a metal clinking sound from somewhere in the darkness. It seemed to be coming from behind him, but the man couldn't really tell due to the pitch black and the echo the metal sound produced.

"Help me! Please, somebody, help! I'm tied to this chair, and I don't know ho-" He was cut off by a ball of cloth being stuffed into his mouth.

"None of that now," a voice spoke by the man's right ear. It was a breathy, low voice, probably meant to soothe, but it did nothing to pacify the captured man. "The fun's just beginning...."

The captured man's blood ran cold upon hearing those words.

A sharp nail dragged along the man's jaw, slow and implying an intimacy the two certainly didn't have. It sent child down the man's spine.

"Mhmmm....we're going to have lots of great fun together, aren't we?" Came the soft voice again.

The blindfold descended, as the man had a sneaking suspicion it would, and his captor moved around to the front, both hands coming up to caress the man's face. The captured man whimpered from behind the gag, but his captor ignored the sounds.

"Yes....," the mystery person delighted. A finger came up to trace over the man's wide spread lips. "We'll have so much fun together...."

(######)

Blood dripped from the man tied to the chair, a puddle getting larger inch-by-inch on the floor to the left of his feet.

Ches put down his latest instrument, but not before licking a stripe of blood up from along the blade. His lips stretched into a wide, satisfied smile, and his eyes flicked down to watch his captive take deep breaths to keep from whimpering in pain.

Ches frowned, his mood clicking like a switch being flipped. That simply wouldn't do. He grabbed a rusty saw, knuckles white against the dirty looking handle.

He crept up beside the chair, leaning in close so his breath caressed the shell of the other's ear.

He ignored the shake of fear the man gave off, though the action somewhat lifted Ches' stormy mood.

"Don't hold back, darling. I wanna hear those sweet noises you make for me...." Another full body convulsion from the seated man, and finally a whimper of pain sounded from behind the gag. "That's it dear..... Don't hold back on me now...."

The man tried to say something through the gag, but Ches shook his head, clamping his right hand down on the man's mostly uninjured arm. The blade hovered over the man's elbow.

Ches took a moment to breath in the scent of fear and sweat radiating off his captive. He exhaled, satisfied.

"Now......don't hold back those sweet noises, I wanna hear you...."

As Ches began to saw into the man's arm, whatever the man was going to incoherently mumble in return was replaced by what would have been a blood-curdling scream had it not been for gag. Ches began to hum _The Lobster Quadrille_ as he continued to saw, only stopping when he got down to the bone.

Ches set the saw on the floor, his now free hand coming close to poke at the deep gash. Slowly, the man's screams died off from behind his gag, tears staining the bottom of the blindfold.

Adrenaline rushed through Ches' system, and at the signals the entire scene was sending to his brain - the sight, the smells - he swooped down to run his tongue along on half of the cut - the _**taste**_. He moaned, tongue still lapping.

The seated man was done screaming, it seemed. Now he just whimpered, quiet sobs jumping out to join as Ches continued moaning around his mouthful of torn flesh. The only thing keeping the man from passing out was his nerves, but now, they were beginning to fail him.

Ches stood, clicking his tongue in mock sympathy. He reached behind the other's head and untied the blindfold, letting it settle on the man's thighs.

He tapped the man's cheeks, back and forth, until the man was blinking wide, scared eyes open and up. Ches grinned down on the bound man before him. He draped his left arm purposefully around his captive's shoulders, and used his right hand to grab his captive's head.

Long fingers with sharp, pointy nails dug into the man's head and left shoulder, both of Ches' hands gripping tight as he tilted the man;s head slightly back.

Chills anew skittered along the bound man's spine as he gazed in horror at the Cheshire wide grin on his captor's face. He tried to recoil physically, but he was stopped by his restraints, both tight on his form.

A sharp crack rang out in the dark room, and the man's head limped to the side. The glass over his eyes did not hide how wide they were before the fatal twist of the neck.

The lean hands dropped away from the now dead man in the chair. He stood there, grinning for several minutes before tearing his eyes away and setting to work picking up his toys.

Ches knew that that night, he'd have some delicious memories to play back to himself as he lay in bed.

(######) (######) (######)

(Three days later)

The bar was busy, probably loud too. Ches wasn't really paying attention to anything or anyone other than this one man at the bar.

He had mousy brown hair cut close to his head, and he wore a coat to match. The man had been sitting at the bar since Ches came in, and Ches hadn't been able to focus on anything else since catching sight of him.

He was beautiful. Despite the bags under his sleepy eyes, and the unkempt appearance of his person. Or maybe he was beautiful because of these things.

Ches was drawn to this man. That would explain his reluctance to let the man out of his sight. He just wanted to take the man away from everyone else in the world. Lock him away so only Ches could reach. Could touch him. Could fuck him.

It made Ches excited, imagining being able to touch the man with the mousy hair. Imagining being able to lick and bite, and taste him everywhere. Being able to give him pleasure and pain.

Ches was willing to bet everything he owned that that mousy brown hair would look wonderful alongside the crimson ichor that no doubt flowed through his veins. He was so excited now that he almost smiled, slow and wide. He managed to rein it in though. That wasn't for any regular person to see. Hopefully he could show it to this beautiful man.

He called a waitress over.

(######)

Dorian couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it started, but at some point during the night he began to feel as if he was being watched.

It didn't bother him to the point of looking around to see if someone was actually watching him, but that was most definitely due to how many drinks he had had.

So, there he was, sitting at his usual bar stool, nursing his nth drink, when Rosaleen, the bartender for the night, set another drink down in front of him.

"What's this?" Dorian asked, gazing at the full glass with a hint of suspicion.

"There's a gentleman sitting over there who ordered this for you," Rosaleen informed him. He turned to see a man sitting alone at a table, who raised his own drink in acknowledgement. Dorian nodded back, shooting the stranger a small smile of thanks in return.

He turned back to stare at the full glass on the bar. "It's not going to be charged to your tab, Dorian." Rosaleen's voice lilted to an almost song-like quality. "May as well take a free drink when you can." She left to help another customer.

Dorian pushed aside his current drink and picked up the new one. He peered over his shoulder to look at the stranger who had bought it for him.

The man's eyes gleamed in the dim light, but his face remained expressionless. A shiver went through Dorian. The stranger's expression, or lack thereof, reminded him of a cat's.

Dorian didn't like cats. He was afraid of them.

Despite the stranger's likeness to a cat, however, Dorian was interested in talking to the man. Maybe he'd stop resembling a cat once Dorian heard him speak.

"Would you like company?" The question interrupted his thoughts.

Dorian looked to his right. It was the stranger. The brunette's heart soared in his chest. He took a moment to look the man up and down. He was lean, attractive, Dorian's type.

The man was probably talking about company in the sense of drinking companions. Dorian was fine if things went farther than that, though, the man's eyes still reminded him of a cat. Dorian swallowed his fear at that thought.

He smiled at the stranger. "That'd be much appreciated," he replied. He held his hand out. "The name's Dorian Mousseau."

The stranger shook his hand, but didn't smile back. Instead, his eyes gleamed brighter. "I'm Ches. It's nice to meet you, Dorian." He sat down, angling his body toward Dorian.

(######)

They went back to Ches' place. Dorian's was crowded with people and tea cups.

(######) (######) (######)

(Monday, April 8th)

Alice arrived on the scene late. The upsides were that she had coffee to help ease her suffering of being up so early in the morning, and she was at the crime scene before Whitney. If there was anything good about coming in late, it was arriving before the CSI who was known for being late every single day.

Ducking below the police tape at the entrance, Alice walked into the poorly lit warehouse, empty of wares but full of people.

Some assistant CSIs were already on the scene, and the flashes from their cameras made blue spots dance in Alice's vision.

Blinking away the spots, the blonde detective made her way over to her partner and boss, who were standing in front of the victims.

"You're late," Mary Redburn, captain of the precinct, snipped, not looking away from the victims dangling from the ceiling. Her dark hair looked to be pulled into a tighter-than-usual bun today. Whether it was the scene before her that did it, or the early hour, the detective couldn't tell.

"Not as late as Whitney," Alice replied coolly. She glanced at her partner from the corner of her eye. The circles under his eyes darker than usual, looking more like bruises rom a broken nose against his alabaster skin.

"Happy un-birthday, Alice Pleasance Liddell," Hatta greeted with a wide grin and wide eyes.

Alice nodded once in greeting, "Hatta. Looking well, as usual." She took a sip of her coffee. There was a moment in which everyone just stood, staring ahead. "So," Alice interrupted, "what do we have today?"

Redburn's frown got deeper. "Two victims, which is not the Cat's usual M.O., but he seems to be in a good mood," she reported. There was a commotion on the other side of the warehouse. Whitney had finally showed up. "Excuse me." Redburn stormed over to the lanky CSI, fists clenched tight and shoulders up to her red ears.

Alice turned away to stare up at the victims. They were suspended by a strong rafter and heavy chains. Their bodies were a mess of white, black, and red, the colours fading in and out of each other. The black flabs of skin were areas where the Cat had cut into them, while the redness and pale patches of skin had been caused by strong industrial bleach; Alice only knew this due to the previous victims.

The black areas appeared to outnumber the red and white areas, and there was a lot of area to cover on both victims. Below their feet there was a wide smile painted onto the floor, probably with the dead's own blood. Another detail only known due to previous scenes.

She finished her coffee and gave the container to an officer nearby to throw out. She stuffed her hands in her blue wool coat pockets.

"So, have we gotten an ID on these two?" The blonde asked, taking a step forward to crane her neck more, as if she could discern the victims' identities from the bottoms of their feet.

"Not as of yet. I suppose it wasn't a very good un-birthday for them regardless," Hatta commented idly. Alice shrugged.

Several officers worked to lower the victims so that their feet brushed the floor. Whitney and his assistants came forward to examine the bodies more closely, the former rolling up the sleeves of his white button up before getting to work. The back of his grey vest shone silver in the artificial lighting.

"How's Haigha?" Alice asked as the CSIs worked. Hatta let out a high pitched laugh that went ignored by everyone except Alice. "And Dorian?"

"Got himself a boyfriend. Hasn't brought him over though, not yet. Could be that he's ashamed of his roommates. Or his boyfriend," Hatta replied. He stepped forward, watching intently. "What's the verdict, Rabbitt?"

Whitney frowned at one of the victims' wounds, then said, "They were dipped into bleach, probably in the same stuff the last was. There's multiple stab wounds on both these guys here. They look identical."

"So they're twins. Great, that makes our jobs so much easier. Thanks, Whitney," Alice snarked, rolling her eyes.

Whitney glared out from behind the bundle of dead limbs at the blonde. "I'm not talking about the bodies, Mary Ann. I'm talking about the wounds. Each laceration on one twin is on the other," Whitney explained. He gestured to the one closest to him. "There's a difference though. This guy isn't as decayed."

"What are you talking about, Whitney?" Alice demanded. It really was too early for this.

"They were hours apart. That is to say, their deaths," Whitney clarified, his eyes trained on the twins as if they were a new scientific discovery.

"You're telling me that Cat, not only went out of his way to cut these two guys up the same way, but he also worked on them one at a time?" Alice asked disbelieving. She didn't get an answer, Whitney had gone back to doing whatever it was he did. Alice rolled her eyes again.

"Liddell, Hatta. We got an ID on the bodies," an officer called.

(######)

Alice had a hard time picturing the victims in this tiny tea shop, cluttered with tables and chairs. The brothers were bulkier than Alice, and she had had to stoop low to get down the narrow stairs leading to the entrance.

The victims were known as the Tweedle Brothers, Dee and Dum-Dum. They owned a tea shop in the downtown area and kept to themselves mostly. Records showed that they shard an apartment, a business, and a credit card. It was an unpleasant irony that the two had shared a death as well.

Hatta immediately went behind the counter toward the back of the shop and put the kettle on.

"Hatta," Alice scolded halfheartedly, attention on the shop rather than on her partner, "this is not the time for tea."

"There's always time for tea, Alice Pleasance Liddell. Always," Hatta announced. He spotted a tin of cookies and reached for it eagerly. Tossing down the lid, the man dug into the tin, plucking a cookie out from the middle of the pile and plopping it in his mouth.

He chewed then swallowed, frowning down at the tin. "They're stale." He took another regardless.

Alice turned to face her partner, sighing. "What's stale?" She asked.

"The cookies," Hatta said around a mouthful of pastry. He held out the tin to solidify his point.

"So?"

"Sooooo," the man drawled, pausing to swallow his mouthful. "One does not serve stale cookies with tea. It's bad for business and wrong in general." Alice nodded, her eyebrows scrunched together in thought.

She looked around again, letting her eyes sweep around the tiny space. "There's no sign of a fight in here," she stated. "I'm thinking the Cat pounced after they had closed for the day."

Hatta laughed that high pitched, tittering laugh again. This time, Alice ignored it. She turned back to the entrance, looking over her shoulder to see if her partner was going to follow.

"You coming?"

"Not until the tea's ready," Hatta replied, placing the cookie tin back on the counter with the lid on top.

"Okay. I'll be waiting in the car. We still need to check out their apartment. Maybe the Cat took them from there." With that said, Alice continued out the door, ambling to their car.

(######) (######) (######)

(Later that same day)

Ches was still buzzing from his latest catch. Two for the price of one! How different! Why he hadn't thought to capture twins before was beyond him. It had been so interesting, so fascinating to watch. Ches wished he could tell Dorian about his weekend, but his mouse wasn't ready to hear about it just yet.

The neon glow of the bar's sign brought Ches out of his thoughts, signaling his arrival. A rush of primal hunger surged to the forefront of Ches' being, filling his chest with a tight, happy feeling.

He was meeting his mouse tonight, and with this buzzing of satisfaction coursing through him, Ches was very much looking forward to tonight. He couldn't wait to get Dorian underneath him, see his mouse squirm and blush at the attention Ches gave him.

Ches pushed open the door of the bar, keen eyes immediately zeroing in on Dorian who was sitting in his spot at the bar.

Ches stopped in his tracks three feet from the door. There was someone talking to his mouse.

This person had scraggly dirty blonde hair, a lazy eye, and a crazed grin. He was sitting to Dorian's right - in **_Ches'_** seat - and had the beautiful man's complete attention. Dorian's back was to Ches and the door, and - was that? - he seemed to be laughing at something the man had said.

Ches hated this newcomer instantly.

He slid into a booth near the door and watched his mouse and this stranger talk, laugh, touch. Ches tensed up, and his hands curled into tight fists, when the stranger slapped a hand on Dorian's back. His mouse laughed and said something in return.

This _nobody_ was touching what was his. That was not allowed. Not at all.

The conversation didn't last for much longer, which Ches was glad for. As soon as the newcomer was out the door of the bar, Ches followed.

This man was going to find out what happened when he touched what didn't belong to him.

(######)

_I can't make our date tonight, mouse. Terribly sorry for how last minute this is. Something came up._

_ -XXXX_

(######) (######) (######)

(4:13 AM, Tuesday morning)

Alice was pulled from sleep at the sound of her phone ringing. Blindly she managed to press the call button once she had found the device, pulling her messy blonde hair out of her face.

"'ello?"

"Happy un-birthday, Alice Pleasance Liddell," Hatta greeted from the other end of the line. He sounded wide awake.

Alice frowned and sank in the covers again. "What is it, Hatta? I was in the middle of something," the blonde asked, closing her eyes.

"Sex?"

"Sleep," Alice snapped. Hatta's tittering laugh came crackling through the speaker. Alice sighed, turned onto her side.

"What's happened, Hatta?" She asked, patient despite how much she wanted to go back to sleep.

The line went quiet for a minute. Alice sat back up. That wasn't a good sign.

"Tell me," Alice breathed out. Her free hand clutched the sheets.

Another minute of silence until, finally, Hatta said, "Haigha's missing."

Alice blinked. Frowned. Reminded him: "Hatta. It's nearly four in the morning!"

"Yes, I'm aware." His voice was calm on the other end, and it made Alice pause, thinking.

Then it hit her. "It's nearly four in the morning." Haigha had never stayed out that late, had never stayed out so late since Hatta had met him forever ago and the two had become flatmates.

"I'll be right there," Alice promised. She snapped the phone shut and threw the covers off, all traces of sleep gone.

(######) (######) (######)

(Four days later; Saturday, April 13th)

It was gruesome. There had been blood everywhere, and it took hours to clean the body up enough for anyone to be able to identify it.

The victim's fingerprints weren't in the system, and they would have checked dental records next but Hatta had gotten one look at the crooked, buck teeth in the victim's mouth and knew.

They called Dorian in for a positive ID. It took a few minutes, mostly because Dorian was busy running his eyes over all the stitches the medical examiner had had to put in. In the end though, he confirmed what they had known.

It was Haigha. Mutilated. Chopped up. Missing an eye. Dead.

Dorian couldn't stop sobbing, and was given jam to calm him down from potential hysteria. He then proceeded to drink the entirety of Alice's emergency booze in practically one go. Hatta had just sat down in shock and hadn't gotten back up since. The blonde had eventually gotten a shock blanket and settled it around her partner's shoulders.

Then, she asked them both routine questions, focusing more on Dorian as he had been the last one to see Haigha before he had disappeared.

Redburn got wind of everything while Alice was questioning Dorian, and gave the case to someone else. Alice protested, but couldn't do anything about it. Redburn wasn't changing her mind.

No prints were found on the body, nor anywhere around where the body was found. no hairs of any kind. No footprints or tiny pieces of dead skin from whoever had done this.

With no evidence, no murder weapon, no leads, the case was declared cold, and sealed away in storage.

Haigha was dead.

No one was convicted. No one was even suspected.

(######) (######) (######)

(Three weeks later; Saturday May 4th)

Dorian sat in his usual seat at his usual bar, The Singing Flowers, nursing his nth drink as usual.

But nothing felt usual. Everything felt off kilter. Everything had felt unreal since Haigha had turned up dead.

One of the Poppy triplets set another drink down in front of him. Dorian blinked at the glass he was holding. When had it become empty?

She left with a sad smile and the empty glass. Dorian reached for the new one.

Someone sat next to him, but Dorian didn't look up to see who it was until a hand came up to his face. Knuckles brushed the brunette's cheek and a thumb skirted down his jaw.

He turned his head and saw his boyfriend smiling with his eyes at him. Dorian only had to wait a moment before Ches' eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"Why the long face?" Ches' hand had yet to drop, and he took of advantage of Dorian's turned head, cupping the brunette's cheek.

"Haigha....." Dorian's ragged voice trailed off. His grip on the drink tightened. "He's dead."

Ches was quiet for a minute, contemplating as his steady gaze took in his partner. Dorian did not know what he looked like, if his eyes were red and puffy from the crying or if his lips were chapped from the amount of alcohol he'd consumed today. He probably smelled heavily of alcohol, but then, the whole establishment had the permanent aroma of hops built into the woodwork.

Ches' silence prompted Dorian to add in a trembling voice, "He.... he was missing, for days. We didn't know where he had gone. And then-" His voice broke off as tears sprang into his eyes. Dorian swallowed around the lump in his throat and pushed the rest of the sentence out from between his lips, "-he turned up, dead."

"I know I should be over it, but-" The tears slipped down his face, and Dorian turned away to chug his treacle whiskey, letting Ches' hand fall away.

"Do you want company tonight, then?" His boyfriend asked.

(######)

They went back to Ches' place.

By that time, Dorian had had another drink or two, and Ches hadn't had any though. He had a feeling that his mouse had been drowning his sorrows in alcohol long before Ches had arrived at the bar.

Dorian was also very handsy, though he had been crying not too long ago.

It didn't matter, Ches decided, if his mouse wanted to forget about what had happened through sex, then he'd oblige.

They made it to the bedroom no problem, and Ches pushed Dorian down onto the bed with relish. Dorian surrendered without complaint, but he was still talking.

About what? Ches had lost track somewhere between the first floor and the door to his apartment. He tuned back in, and then wished he hadn't.

"He was a good friend, you know?" Kiss. "He was always there for me, and he never liked to see me worked up." Kiss. "Haigha even would tuck me into bed if my blankets were all over the floor, and I was passed out drunk. Which happens a lot, and-"

Dorian cried out in pain and stopped talking, staring up in surprise at Ches. His eyes displayed his agitation, but Ches didn't seem to notice.

He brought his mouth level with Dorian's ear, and whispered, "Stop talking about him. He's not here, I am."

"Yeah, but-"

A nip on his ear had Dorian closing his mouth. Ches seemed to purr with satisfaction. That only made Dorian more uncomfortable. Something was wrong here.

"He wasn't worthy, mouse. Don't waste another thought on him," Ches said, nuzzling Dorian's neck.

Dorian pushed at Ches' shoulders, but he didn't budge. "What? What are you talking about?" He asked, confused. "What do you mean, not worthy?"

"He wasn't worthy to stand near you. Wasn't worthy to touch you," Ches sighed. "He shouldn't have touched you. He knows now though...."

This time, Dorian's push insured a foot or two of space between the men. Dorian felt like throwing up and there was a lump in his throat that he tried to swallow down. His whole body was shaking.

"He's dead, Ches. I told you that. How can he know anything?" Dorian's voice was small and as shaky as the rest of him.

"He knows now. You're not his to touch. He didn't know before, but now he understands," Ches insisted. "You're not his."

Dorian braced himself; he had a feeling he was not going to like the answer to his next question. Voice low to hide the tremor in it, he asked, "And whose am I?"

"You're mine, of course. You have to be," Ches answered, as if it should have been obvious. "All mine. No one else can have you, I'll make sure of that. I _made_ sure of that."

"How?"

"You know how." Ches leaned toward Dorian, not understanding that when Dorian leaned away, he wanted as much space as possible between them.

"No," Dorian pleaded, "I don't. Please Ches-"

"You do! Of course you do!" Ches interrupted, a smile starting to grow on his face. "You do know! You've been talking about it all night!"

Dorian's heart seemed to stop. His entire body froze up.

Ches had killed Haigha. Had done all those terrible things to him. And he was smiling about the whole situation. He couldn't stop smiling.

(######) (######) (######)

(Tuesday, May 7th)

Dorian was missing. It was making Hatta go crazy because he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened when Haigha had gone missing.

Then. two days passed without a trace of Dorian, and Hatta kept expecting Dorian to show up mutilated just like Haigha had. Alice could tell. It broke her heart, seeing her best friend like this, going through this.

When she had gotten the phone call that Dorian was missing, she had packed an overnight bag before leaving for the station. She had been sleeping over at Hatta's place ever since. She had known it would have felt empty with both his roommates gone.

Two days had passed, and Alice was increasingly worried at what they would find. At what would be waiting for them.

Some would say that what was waiting for them after two days was better than a body. Some would say it was worse.

Two days had passed, and what they found, what was waiting for them, was a letter.

One look at the envelope, and the letter was immediately scanned and X-rayed. When it cleared, it lay before Alice and Hatta on a table clear of everything else.

On the envelope was a picture of a smile. The same wide grin that showed up at each of the Cat's dumpsites. It looked as if it was painted on with dark paint. Forensics had gotten a sample. It was blood.

Haigha's blood.

One of the assistant CSIs opened the envelope with gloves on, unfolded the letter, and set it down on the table. The letter was written with ink that was the same colour as the smile on the envelope.

The assistant CSI scraped some of the "ink" off a smaller smile acting as a signature at the bottom of the page. The letter said nothing about Dorian or the killer's whereabouts. All there was, was a nonsense poem and that signature smile.

_"Fury said to a mouse, that he met in the house, 'Let us both go to law: I will prosecute you - Come, I'll take no denial; We must have a trail: For really this morning I've nothing to do.'_

_ Said the mouse to the cur, 'Such a trail, dear Sir, with no jury or judge, would be wasting our breath.'_

_ 'I'll be judge, I'll be jury.' Said cunning old Fury: 'I'll try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.'"_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! I got carried away with references to the books, because I'm a huge nerd. Please leave a kudos, comment, and/or question below! I'd love to hear what you thought!  
-Poison Ivy


End file.
